You Hate Her
by Unwillingly Me
Summary: It's simple enough, isn't it? So why haven't you pulled the rope to put everything into action? Why haven't you become the puppeteer yet, Drew?


**This is nothing much. I just wrote it on a whim because I don't want to study for my finals. That's a good enough reason, isn't it? Sorry if it's a bit lousy. It's my first go at writing from second person, so it's probably not perfect. **

**Anyways, I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians or Heroes of Olympus. I'm just a person fighting my boredom with fanfiction. I think that's all I've got to say.**

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><p>You wanted to crush her. You wanted to make her pay. That's what you wanted. You wanted to make her suffer.<p>

You had planned it all out, took cold calculations and brought them to a level that not even Athena could comprehend. You put every single bit of dedication into your plot. You wanted the power she stole from you. You wanted it back, despite the small, hushed voice in the back of your head telling you that she was a better leader than you.

But here you are (a nervous wreck), not even able to lift the perfectly manicured finger you had planned to destroy her with. Why couldn't you pull the rope that would lift you to victory? Was it the microscopic conscience in your head, trying its hardest to sway your mind? No, it couldn't be that. You had defeated it many times, and it barely even existed anymore.

You're nothing really, not even able to crush your sister like you wanted.

Instead, you're lying in the dark, fighting yourself with the thought of destroying her. You want to hurt her. That's what you try to convince yourself now, because she doesn't deserve the pain you want to bring her. Because she's got a golden heart, free of chains, free of stone.

You want to hurt her, right? You want your power back, don't you? You want people to fear you again, because fear lasts longer that sincerity. Now, people just hate you; they don't even give you respect by fearing you, because of what she did. She stripped you of that shred of respect. It's only your duty to make her pay.

You want to make her suffer. You want to crack that golden heart of hers, replace it with stone so that she knows what it's like to be you, trapped in a world where gold doesn't get anyone anywhere, unless you can flaunt it around with a few super expensive dresses. That girl doesn't know a thing.

She thinks she can talk it out, come to peace. Does that ever work? No. You've subtly informed her of this, but she must be dumb, because she never notices. Maybe it comes from her clothes, maybe from that lousy haircut she gave herself.

You're better than her, but no one seems to care. You're smarter than they give you credit for; they don't care enough about you to learn. Not a single person, not even little Lacey who's been around you for so many years.

Just pull the rope, and it'll be over. Her reputation will be ruined, obliterated. Do it already, save your mind the pain of argument and do it. It's not that hard. You have the "proof". Plant it already. Hurt her already. Give her what she deserves for dethroning you. Give her a smile that clearly tells her that it was all you, that it was always you out to get her.

Because being the puppet master would be so much easier than sitting by and watching her be loved by everyone that should have loved you.

You want her gone, that spirit of hers drained. That's what you keep telling yourself. So, why are you crying yourself to sleep at night? Is it because she's mother's favorite? Is it because, maybe you could do it without hurting anyone?

But hurt comes with life. It's only natural that she feel a little bit of pain, even if it lasts for quite a while. Get over it and do it already.

It's worth it, you tell yourself, with your face in the pillow in an attempt to hide your tears. It's worked this long, hasn't it. No one's noticed, or at least, no one's cared enough to ask what was wrong. You're fine with that. After all, you don't need them to care. You just need control. You need to control what they think of you. Now, they think you're worthy of their pity, that's all they think of you.

To them, you're pitiful, and it's all her fault.

That's why she has to pay. It's why tightening the strings is necessary. She needs a bit more time to have more people love the person they see. Then you can pull the rope, then you can make her pay.

You finally take the pillow away from your face. The tears have stopped, and you allow yourself to breathe the not really fresh air of the cabin. However, hiccups overtake you for some odd reason, probably having to do with the long session of crying you had. And it's all her fault, you say silently.

If she had never shown her face around here, you would be fine. This was her fault. How could anyone love her? Didn't they know that she stole the only thing you had? Of course they didn't. They didn't care about you then, and they still don't care about you. They want you gone, but you aren't planning on leaving.

This is, after all, the only place you've ever had a degree of control. Why should you let her stand with that control? She took it from you. You earned it (in an indirect manner having to do with Silena's death). You deserve it. She deserve the pain she causes you, flaunting that power she stole. Shoving the fact that everyone likes her more than they like you into your face every second of every day.

You try stifling the hiccups to no avail, hoping that they wake no one. After all, seeing you like this would only make them pity you more. You're not like them, and you don't need anything other than control over them. And their pity won't get you anywhere, so you don't need it.

There is a creak, coming distinctively from the other side of the cabin, down where she sleeps. You curse yourself for not being quiet enough, but it could just be Lacey. There is a chance that it isn't _her_. Though that chance is slim, so you don't risk it.

No, instead you put the pillow back over your face and hope that it is confused with your face. It sounds stupid as you think about it, but you don't care. You don't want anyone to see you like this. You don't want them to see you as weak, because you're not. You're just as strong as the rest of them, just not in the ways that they are.

The pillow is lifted from your face, and you're stuck looking at her. She looks like a child right now in her stupid pajamas, but you don't dare laugh. If you do, the others might hear you.

She gives you a smile, an expression you don't want given to you. And instead of leaving you after that, she sits on the side of your bunk and hands something to you. Of course, you don't take it. That would make it seem like you like her. And you most certainly do not think of her highly in any way at all.

She sets the object on your purse and just sits there, like the freak she is. To show that her presence means nothing to you, you turn on your side and place the pillow under your head. Not even she was going to disrupt your beauty sleep. You needed it. So what if you've been managing to look fabulous for the past week with only a couple hours of sleep each night? It was going to catch up with you eventually if you didn't do anything about it.

**_XXXXX_**

When you wake up, she's still there, but now asleep. She's leaning forward slightly with her chin tucked into her chest. It is slightly impressive that she managed to stay sitting for as long as she has.

You look at the object she tried handing you during the night and learn that it was a small leather box with a proportionally sized bow. You (against your better judgment) open the box to see the nicest pair of earrings in the history of everything. There was no way that she had gotten those without the help of your mother. However, you can't shake the feeling that she got them without your mother's help.

With the earrings came a little note.

_Happy Birthday Drew._

_-Piper_

What did she think this was? A game? This was pathetic, as if these obviously very nice and expensive earrings could buy your friendship. You hate her, don't you? It's why you wake her up and tell her to go back to her own bunk. You don't thank her for the earrings, but you don't throw them in her face either. You hate her, you tell yourself repeatedly. You hate her, right? Yes, you hate her. You hate her, and it's why you've planned her demise.

But hate doesn't explain why you let go of the rope.


End file.
